


In the End

by Hawkeye_918



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, References to the comics, Sniperscout - Freeform, Speeding Bullet (Team Fortress 2), This fic is bittersweet, dont say i didn't warn you, implied references to heaven, this is pretty darn sad guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 16:30:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17881277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hawkeye_918/pseuds/Hawkeye_918
Summary: The contracts of the Teufort Nine run out but the gang vows to keep in touch. Circumstances change and they find themselves trying to pick up the pieces after an unexpected death. It is one thing to lose such a close friend, another to lose the love of your life.





	In the End

**Author's Note:**

> alright everyone aboard the feels train, choo-choo

People will tell you that nothing lasts forever. Sometimes that’s true. 

 

It was an inevitability that the contracts of the Teufort Nine would run out, but that didn’t mean it was one that they had wanted to think about. They had spent years working together, the countless battles coalescing into a blur, memories of well-deserved wins and painful losses. 

 

Scout and Sniper had chosen to stick together and travel around, looking for mercenary work and enjoying each other’s company. There was that added layer of pressure, now, knowing that with no Respawn, they were once again among the mortals of the Earth. It had been difficult to get used to at first. 

 

The other seven mercenaries had gone off on their own, searching for their own fulfilment and going where life took them. In the end, they may have all gone their separate ways. But the camaraderie, the camaraderie remained.

 

The gang organized annual reunions. They would meet up in restaurants as close to Teufort as they dared go. They would have to pick somewhere new every year because inevitably at least two mercs would get a little rowdy and the whole group would get thrown out or banned. Despite the change in locales, there were constants that could be relied on. There would be tears (mostly from Pyro), hugs (mostly from Demo), and exaggerated stories of adventures (from everyone). 

 

They all found themselves speaking fondly of things that they thought would never miss. Sniper waking up to find Soldier’s horde of angry raccoons outside his camper. Pyro attempting to bake cookies for the team and burning down half the kitchen in the process. And all the times everyone had trudged into the base at the end of an awful day, sore in more ways than one. 

 

The night would be full of reminiscing and laughter that wouldn’t dissipate for hours, drawn-out goodbyes and tearful farewells.

 

The reunions were a very much anticipated tradition, and the one held in the fall of 1987 was no exception. Heavy had made the trip, even though he had long since retired from being a hired killer and was quite happy back in Siberia with his family. Scout had entered middle age but maintained his youthful charm, his eyes now crinkling up at the corners when he smiled. Spy insisted that he was still quite the ladykiller, even now with his bad back. 

 

Physical aging might have been slowed by the effects of the Medigun, but it was still an inevitability. 

 

There had been the usual light-hearted quips and general warmth in the atmosphere. Engie had even brought his guitar to play for everyone. There was no indication that anything would change.

 

But there never is, is there?

 

Friday, December 4th, 1987. 

 

Everything about Scout had been quick. His manner of speaking, how fast he made friends, how fast he made enemies. But most of all, his death.

 

Scout had known it was coming and had made the preparations, but none of it had felt real until he was lying in that hospital bed. Scout had always hated hospitals, hated doctors. A little voice in the back of his head told him that maybe if he had gotten a hold of Medic somehow, maybe he could bring him back when he…

 

But no, he knew it was final this time. And Scout was as ready as he’d ever be. He’d already told God he’d be coming-- he hoped He still had those foosball tables.

 

The machines around Scout beeped and whirred. The tubes hooked up to him hurt. 

 

“You’re going to be alright, love”, Sniper whispered, reaching out and giving Scout’s hand a gentle squeeze. 

 

“Yeah. Just promise me you will be.” Scout said weakly, squeezing back. 

 

Something cold and hard was manifesting in Sniper’s chest. He strongly suspected he was feeling his own heart break. 

 

“Loveyou”, Scout breathed, the words running together.

 

“Love you too”, Sniper said, trembling.

 

Scout smiled. His eyes slid shut. And he passed on.

  
  
  


Sniper had first contacted Scout’s family, then the other mercs. Everyone had dropped everything to be there as soon as possible.

 

The wake was a real party, exactly the way Scout would have wanted it. There was plenty of drinking and stories and toasts in his honor. 

 

Sniper looked around the packed function room. It was a little bizarre to see the other mercs in those black suits.

 

Suits.

 

Oh.

 

That’s right.

 

There was one bloke he hadn’t really seen much of that night.

 

In the back of the room, Spy leaned over a cheap glass of wine. Sniper walked over and tapped him on the shoulder. Spy looked up at him with glazed and bloodshot eyes. You could cut the tension with a knife. Neither man said anything for a moment.

 

“Tell me he didn’t suffer.” Spy said, his voice rough like he’d swallowed sandpaper.

 

“... I can’t say. Didn’t seem so.” Sniper replied quietly.

 

Spy nodded then went back to staring at his wine glass, his mind racked with regrets for things he said and things he didn't.

 

The funeral was more of a solemn affair, and frankly Sniper had tried very hard not to remember it. It was all too much all at once. 

 

Scout’s Ma had cried on his shoulder. He had tried very hard not to cry himself.

 

Sniper had been alone for so long, had been used to relying only on himself and no one else. And then Scout had appeared and forced his way into his heart and given him almost fifteen wonderful years of companionship and love that Sniper had never thought himself capable of. And just like that, Sniper was alone again.

 

It was the rudest of awakenings, the most painful of culture shocks. 

 

Sniper moved back into his family’s old farmhouse. It had been vacated after his parents’ death, and after a decade and a half of sitting empty, it was in definite need of fixing up. Sniper busied himself with getting the old place back in shape.

 

It was something to fixate on, something to consume him. He’d wake up and make coffee and get to work immediately. He focused solely on the task at hand and refused to let his mind wander.

 

Nearly a year had passed before he’d known it. And it was time for the annual reunion again.

 

Sniper left his newly finished home and set off for Arizona.

 

The reunion in 1988 was off to a usual start. But the changes were noticed early on. Most attempts at conversation died shortly and the air felt empty and wrong. Scout had been the glue that held the team together, although he probably never realized it. His boundless good humor and enthusiasm were contagious. 

 

“It’s not easy, is it?”, Demo asked, the subject of the question unclear. 

 

“Not at all”, Medic sighed.

 

About five minutes of awkward silence followed.

 

“Where is Spy?”, Heavy asked, looking around the table. 

 

Engie just shook his head. “He ain’t comin’. I sent the invite, he just flat out said ‘no’.”

 

The silence returned.

 

There were no more reunions after that.

 

There were attempts to keep in contact, at least. 

 

Sniper would receive a phone call or two a year from Engie. That was the most use Sniper got out of his phone, honestly. But with long-distance calls being the expense and inconvenience that they were and neither man having much to talk about just by the nature of their reserved personalities, eventually the calls became fewer and farther between.

 

It had been a surprise to get a postcard from Pyro that one time. Apparently they’d gone to some amusement park and had a wonderful time. Sniper only assumed this because there had been no actual writing on the postcard, just doodles of Pyro getting cotton candy or holding balloons. How he’d even received the postcard when his address wasn’t written on it would remain a mystery. 

 

The yearly Christmas and birthday cards from Demo were a pleasant constant.

 

Despite the end of the reunion tradition, Sniper still found himself on a plane headed to America once a year. Depending on how things went, sometimes he made it for Scout’s birthday, sometimes he made it for their anniversary.

 

Sniper would sit by the grave and talk with Scout for hours. It was sort of funny, now Sniper was doing more of the talking and Scout was doing more of the listening. Once he had recalled some old anecdote and sworn he heard a familiar laugh on the breeze. 

 

Sniper would stand up after a time, his tired joints protesting staying in that position for too long. 

He had been essentially forced to give up sniping as he entered his sixties, realizing he could no longer climb up onto the high ground and had greater difficulty getting away when he had to. And with technology advancing at such an alarming rate, it was getting harder and harder to avoid detection and fly under the radar of the law. It had been a difficult decision.

 

Retirement wasn’t easy. To prevent himself from going stir-crazy, Sniper tried working a little piece of his family’s land, but farming had never been an interest for him, much less a strong suit, and it wasn’t long before he gave that up. So he tried knitting. He would’ve tried playing the saxophone again, but his old one had rusted all to hell and he wasn’t sure getting a new instrument would be a worthwhile investment.

 

So he took up hiking again. No steep inclines and nowhere rocky. He just took the paths into the wilderness around his home, ones he had memorized as a child and could follow in his sleep. Sniper had returned home from an outing one evening, and in the fading light, caught sight of a photo on the wall. He hadn’t looked at,  _ really _ looked at it in years. He mostly just saw it in his peripheral vision and had almost forgotten about it entirely. 

 

The photograph showed nine men of various shapes and sizes standing in front of some industrial building. All wore red shirts and smiles. 

 

He studied the photo and wondered, definitely not for the first time, how many of the other mercs were still alive. 

 

Last he’d heard, Soldier was still out there fighting the good fight. After all, he had eaten Merasmus’s entire bottle of “kill me, come back stronger” pills all those years ago, so maybe he couldn’t even die at this point. But who knows.

 

He hadn’t heard a thing from either Medic or Heavy in the better part of a decade, but then again, Sniper had never been especially close to either man. 

 

It had been nothing but radio silence from Spy. He hadn’t bothered to get in touch with anyone since he turned down the invitation to the 1988 reunion. Nearly thirty years ago already. It was as though he had fallen of the face of the Earth. But the man was quite good at disappearing into thin air. 

 

Sniper paused and realized that the older mercs must be in their eighties already, probably even older. He himself was already in his mid seventies. 

 

Time flies.

 

Solitude had once again become Sniper’s most preciously cultivated asset. The nearest town was miles away, but there was still a rumor there, of an old hermit who lived out in the wilderness. They said he was a great shot with a rifle, and if you got close to his property, he’d blow your head off. The rumor was enough to make people cross the street when they saw him, during the times he came into town for supply runs. Sniper wouldn’t have it any other way. 

 

Saturday, August 5th, 2017. 

 

Sniper had felt tired. Very tired. He’d felt a little more alert after a pot of coffee, but not much better. He thought nothing of it. 

 

Regardless, he still went out for a hike early that afternoon. He chose to go to his favorite place in the world.

 

It was a decent trek out into the woods to find the spot, a tall tree overlooking a clearing. As a boy he often climbed up the tree, sometimes swinging from the branches, sometimes climbing up to the top and practicing being as still as possible. 

 

But Sniper was in no condition to be climbing now, his bones creaking as he sat down, back against the base of the tree trunk. 

 

He stared out at the clearing. Dappled sunlight shined through the leaves, birds called, and animals rustled their way through the bush. 

 

It was very peaceful, very comforting.

 

Sniper didn’t recall falling asleep, but apparently he had, because next thing he knew, the sun was starting to go down over the horizon. 

 

Sniper blinked rapidly and rubbed his eyes in an effort to wake himself up. He figured he may have rubbed too hard, because he thought he saw someone walking towards him, across the clearing.

 

No, someone was definitely walking towards him. 

 

Instinct made him reach for his kukri, but he realized he must have forgotten it back at the house.

 

When the figure was a good fifteen feet off, Sniper stared at his face and recognition dawned on him. His breath caught in his throat.

 

It was Scout. 

 

It was him. Unmistakably. 

 

Only… he didn’t look like he did when Sniper had seen him last, lying pale in a casket, wearing a dark suit. 

 

Scout looked like he had on a warm day in June of 1968, clad in his uniform, sporting his usual goofy grin and mischievous glint in his eyes. He looked like he had when he’d run out under the Arizona sun, when he’d first taken Sniper’s hand, and his heart. 

 

“Heya, Snipes”, Scout said softly, absolutely beaming. He carefully took a few more steps forward.

 

“Hey yourself”, Sniper replied, chuckling in disbelief.

 

“You got old.” Scout said astutely.

 

Sniper’s face fell. “You didn’t.”

 

Scout sheepishly kicked the ground. “Wasn’t my choice.”

 

Sniper nodded sadly. “I know”, he whispered.

 

Scout walked closer still, now standing directly in front of him.

 

“D’you think you’re ready?” Scout asked, reaching out his hand. The sun should’ve been down by then, the night sounds of the animals calling around him. But the sky was so very bright and clear. 

 

“Yeah, I am”, Sniper said, letting Scout help him to his feet. Sniper was shocked to find it didn’t hurt when he stood up. He was equally shocked to look at his hands and find them free of wrinkles. He looked back over his shoulder to see what appeared to be his own form, sleeping against the tree.

 

Scout reached out and cupped Sniper’s cheek, gently turning his head to face him. “Missed you”, Scout said simply, tears in the corner of his eyes. Sniper didn’t say anything, just wrapped his arms around Scout and hugged him just a little too tight. Scout was warm and solid and just as much of a comfort as he had always been. They stood there, embracing each other for a while, neither saying a word.

 

When Sniper finally released Scout, he stood back to just look at him for a moment, and got the distinct sensation of feeling at home. 

 

“We’ve got to get going, haven’t we?”, Sniper asked, smiling and jerking a thumb skyward. 

 

Scout grinned and grabbed Sniper’s hand. “Yeah”, he said, laughing. “I met the nicest old couple up there and we been tradin’ embarrassin’ stories about you for the last thirty years.”

 

Sniper barked with laughter and used his free hand to wipe a tear away from his eye. He looked back at Scout and smiled. 

 

People will tell you that nothing lasts forever. Sometimes that’s true.

 

Sometimes things last more than forever.

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! I saw this post on tumblr the other day ( http://hattedhedgehog.tumblr.com/post/164378863567/literally-no-trope-emotionally-fucks-me-up-faster ) and everything took off from there. i'm going to leave scout's cause of death up to personal interpretation. I was thinking along the lines of a heart attack but I really wanted to leave it open. sniper passed away from natural causes. 
> 
> my tf2 tumblr is @teleported-bread if you'd like to talk to me!


End file.
